


alone with my memory of the days in the sun

by kaermorons



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a cat ethereal creature, Cats, Gen, Happy Ending, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21881551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Aziraphale had never been ‘totally normal’ about cats.Title from Memory, in the Cats musical.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40
Collections: Shinbi34's Recommendations





	alone with my memory of the days in the sun

Crowley had never asked about the cat. It was a rather unimpressive looking cat at first glance, but when he realized that the same cat had been resting lazily about Aziraphale’s bookshop for the past three hundred years, he imagined that Aziraphale had just been keeping them alive with the same intentions that Crowley had been keeping his houseplants alive with. Of course, Aziraphale would never yell at one of God’s creatures, especially ones with razors on their little paws, so it must have just been some kind of blessing. Totally normal.

But.

Aziraphale had never been ‘totally normal’ about cats.

It reminded him of the first time he’d actually seen Aziraphale interact with a common, domesticated cat. It had been a very long time since they’d stood on a wall and watched the first man slay the first lion, and cats seemed to have mellowed out quite a bit since then. They’d been somewhere in what would be Morocco, many centuries before God had sent Her Son to earth, and they were walking along the quiet streets after a festival. It was amazing how quiet the earth could be in a city of so many people.

“You have an admirer.” Crowley said at one point, looking back and seeing the slinky, mangy creature weave through crates and stalls. Aziraphale had spun around, nervous at the prospect of being caught in Crowley’s easy presence.

“Oh!” He gasped when the tiny kitten limped forward. “Aren’t you precious?” Aziraphale had knelt down and introduced himself, name and all, to the small creature. He miracled a bit of meat for the kitten, sneaking it just from a nearby stall that had started to close down. The kitten purred like rocks along a mountainside, increasingly louder the more it ate from Aziraphale’s hand. Crowley watched the exchange with interest, especially when the angel waved a hand and the strange limp in the kitten’s gait faded away. They looked cleaner, softer, and Crowley felt a pang of...something at the sight.

“Bless you, small one.” Aziraphale said. “Oh, bless all of you.” Crowley felt like he’d been knocked back by a punch at the power of the angelic blessing. Something shifted everywhere. Even the air tasted different.

“Angel, what did you  _ do _ ?” Crowley asked.

“I bestowed a blessing, what does it look like, Crowley?”

“It feels like you toppled a bloody mountain is what it feels like.” He snapped. The kitten had clawed its way up Aziraphale’s arm, which had stopped petting their head, a terrible offense.

“I’m still getting used to it, forgive me.” Aziraphale scooped the kitten up in his arms, cradling it like a baby. The sight of an angel and a soft kitten almost drove Crowley into a wall. “Humans are rather fond of naming them.” He mentioned. “I think your name looks...well, I think you look like a Hannah.”

“You can’t give a cat a human name, you have to give it a cat name, a proper cat name.” Crowley interjected, dodging another wall.

“And what, pray tell, is a proper cat name?”

This struck Crowley for a moment. “Dunno. Like. Fluffy.” He shrugged. “Something that’ll lull humans into a false sense of security right before it claws their eyes out.”

“I think I’ll stick with Hannah. You like your name? Hmm? Hannah?” Aziraphale was petting the damned thing, of course it would like anything he said. Crowley made a face at Hannah when it leveled him with what could only be described as smug contentment. He was not going to be one-upped by a bloody  _ cat. _

Through the millennia, Crowley noticed Aziraphale always seemed to be within arms reach of a cat. They’d be at a cafe in Paris some thousands of years later, and a fat white Persian cat would make Aziraphale’s lap a home. Or in one of their rare jaunts to Japan, they’d be followed by a veritable gang of creatures of all shapes and sizes. Aziraphale liked to return to Morocco every so often to bless here and there, but Crowley knew it was to check in on Hannah’s ancestors. It appeared that the adage of the whole nine lives thing had been started that fateful night, with that earthquake of a blessing.

Everywhere they went, there was a moggie rubbing at Aziraphale’s bloody ankles. They’d receive a nice pat, some food, a name, and a blessing, and be on their way. Sometimes, Crowley thought, Aziraphale seemed to like cats more than humans. Considering they never created wars, taxes, or weaponry outside of their little paws, it was understandable that Aziraphale would let a cat hang around the bookshop, but not allow humans to do the same.

He hadn’t asked about the cat or the continued presence of it because Aziraphale didn’t seem to fawn over it the way he did when they’d see one out and about.

One night, when the pair of them had gotten quite on their ways to drunk, the cat wound itself up in a little cinnamon bun on Aziraphale’s lap.

“You ever get scolded for that one? Keeping a mortal being alive well past its time?”

Aziraphale seemed confused. “What?” He asked, and Crowley had to blink a couple thousand times to understand that with the wave of a hand, the cat had vanished from Aziraphale’s lap.

“It wasn’t real? What?” Crowley stumbled forward out of the chair and waved his hand rather clumsily around Aziraphale’s lap.

“You thought it was a real cat?” Aziraphale was grinning proudly. “I suppose I’ve seen quite a few, projecting my ethereal form into the shape of one wouldn’t be too difficult.”

Crowley took another few thousand blinks to process this, too.

“Ethereal form.” He repeated. Aziraphale nodded. “Bloody hell.”

The conversation went undiscussed for a few weeks. The cat still hung around the shop from time to time, and stared at Crowley with what he realized were two blue, unblinking eyes. “You know, you should have it blink. It’s a bit unnerving when it doesn’t blink.” He called to his angel.

“That’s the point, my dear boy.”

Another few weeks passed and Crowley found himself storming the bookshop at around three in the morning, still in his pajama pants and some old shirt of his. He’d been having the loveliest dream about the spa trip he’d taken when he’d woken up from his hundred-year nap, and remembered something he hadn’t had need to remember for over a hundred years.

“Angel! Angel!” He hollered once inside. The cat, the bloody cat, was on the till, precariously perched before it dashed away around a corner. Crowley followed it to find Aziraphale at his desk.

“What is it? It’s three in the morning!”

“You know, I just remembered. That when I woke up from my wonderful nap after our row, there was a bloody cat sitting on my chest like nothing! That cat!” He pointed an accusatory finger at the cat in question, who disappeared promptly. “And there were bloody paw prints all over my flat, in the dust, like it’d been living there!” 

“Well, you must be mistaken, I—“ Aziraphale was flushing a lovely pink under these allegations that Crowley was levying.

“I know those unblinking eyes. They were the first thing I saw!”

There was a very heavy, tense silence, and Aziraphale, who never bubbled over, boiled over. “I missed you! I was worried about you!” He fell into his desk chair. “I wanted to keep an eye on you even though you wouldn’t want me to. I...you left me so lonely, Crowley. I had miracled the cat here so I wouldn’t… So I wasn’t alone when you got tired of me. And when you asked… I thought you were going to leave me alone for good.”

The silence returned. Crowley, still intent on being angry with the angel, just stormed out, exceptionally flustered.

More time passed between them, and Aziraphale felt miserable. He couldn’t even make himself a little kitty to keep him company in his lonely bookshop. Until one day, he noticed a soft scratching at the door. “We’re closed!” He called, but the scratching continued. He opened the door, surprised when he saw nobody there. A black blur flashed by his ankles, and when he turned, there was a sleek black cat curled up in Crowley’s couch, obviously tired and cold from the rain outside. “Oh dear.” Aziraphale locked the door again and approached slowly. The cat did not move, hardly breathed.

“My dear kitty, this is my friend’s regular seat, if you don’t mind not shedding all over it… oh bother.”

He had cut himself off when the cat had raised his head and opened his eyes. They were a spectacular gold hue, wide as the day is long, and unquestionably, undoubtedly, belonged to—

“Crowley?”

The cat almost looked bashful, hiding its snout in his tail. Aziraphale’s usual projection could only be touched by himself, and was essentially a projected hallucination for anybody else, their hand going straight through the air. Aziraphale held a hand out and gently petted the kitty—Crowley—on his head and neck.

“My dear, is that really you?” Aziraphale asked softly. Crowley had actually, honestly, transformed himself into a black cat and ran across London to come see him. Aziraphale softened and sat on the floor by the couch. “What’s all this for, Crowley?” He asked tiredly.

Obviously the cat did not answer. In Aziraphale’s experience, they almost never did.

“Well I know you don’t like to eat much. You already have a name. And I think blessing you would be… you want me to forgive you.” He realized, and the cat only tensed up. Right answer, then. “My dear, of course I forgive you! It was...it was unconscionable for me to invade your privacy and expect you to—“

Suddenly he had his hand on a very red head of hair. “Forgive me for running away.” Crowley choked out. “For sleeping so long you grew lonely on a whole planet of other beings. I hurt you, angel. I did.”

The silence, once again, pregnant with meaning and heavy with words unspoken, fell over them.

“I forgive you. Of course I do. You came back to me. I know you will, time after time.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand. “I have no doubt of that. I tend to attract creatures like that.” He jabbed lightly.

“Thank you.” Crowley breathed. Things would be okay.

From then on, there were sometimes two cats in the bookshop, curled against one another in a warm window. 


End file.
